Surviving In This Filthy World As A Novel Villain-Chapter 167: Mr. Protagnist Aunt
The Old man's son stormed out of the estate, his wife close behind, her heels clicking sharply against the gravel path. They climbed into the sleek black car, the doors slamming shut as the engine rumbled to life. Inside, the silence was thick, suffocating. Then she snapped.
"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" she burst out, kicking the dashboard in frustration, her voice trembling with anger.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turning white. "You know how he is. Once he makes a decision, that's it. No one changes his mind."
She turned to him, eyes blazing. "I'm not talking about that idiot. I'm talking about our daughter's engagement!"
He didn't answer right away, just stared out at the dark road ahead as the trees blurred past. That only made her angrier.
"Are you seriously okay with this?" she pressed, voice rising. "Our little girl being forced to marry a murderer?"
"What am I supposed to do, huh?" he shot back, his tone sharp but laced with frustration. "It wasn't my call. You know how these things work—decisions like this need his approval, even if I'm the one running things."
She crossed her arms, jaw tight. "I don't care who made the decision. My daughter is not tying her life to a killer. Over my dead body."
He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "So what's your plan?"
"I'm going to the city," she said, her voice cold and firm. "I'll break it off myself."
….
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, glinting off the stack of papers Alex had spread across the table.
He leaned back in his chair, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and picked up the file Mr. Waters had dropped off at dawn. It was about Jed—a name that already made his stomach twist.
He flipped through the pages, and with every line, his headache grew. Alex lived by one rule: everyone's got a crack, a weak spot you can pry open.
But Jed? This guy was a freaking fortress. Perfect grades since kindergarten, scholarships piling up like trophies, and a medal from every competition he'd ever entered.
Graduated top of his class, aced the bar exam on his first swing, no vices, no dirt, not even a parking ticket. Teachers adored him, friends swore by him, bosses sang his praises. Jed was the kind of guy who'd rescue a kitten from a tree and then build the tree a better branch.
Alex smirked, sipping his coffee. "Fine, maybe I've got him beat in looks, height, and a solid night's stamina. But everything else? This guy's my shadow—and he's winning."
It wasn't just Jed's résumé that bugged him. It was the whole package. Born into a cushy family, raised with the best schools and the kind of moral compass that pointed straight to justice, Jed was a walking hero cliché.
He hated crooks with a fire that burned bright and clean—nothing like Eric Vaughn, who'd been dragged up by grizzled mountain hermits with more scars than principles.
Guys like Jed made Alex's skin crawl, especially since Jed worked inside the system, while Alex was still clawing his way off a blacklist. One slip, and Jed could lock him up without breaking a sweat.
"Son of a—" Alex muttered, tossing Jed's file onto the table with a slap. He wasn't done yet. If the golden boy was untouchable, maybe his family wasn't. He grabbed another stack of records and started digging.
Every crime novel he'd ever read had that twist: the upright hero with a dirty relative, forced to choose between blood and justice. Jed might be spotless, but family's messy by nature. Alex cracked his knuckles and got to work.
Jed's dad had been a law professor, respected and sharp as a tack, until a car crash took him out thirteen years ago. His mom went with him—both gone in a flash. Classic orphan origin story, leaving ten-year-old Jed with his grandparents.
Grandma was a retired high school teacher, sweet but strict, until sickness claimed her three years back. Grandpa, a gruff old cop with a chest full of medals, followed her two years later. No parents, no scandals—just a kid raised on honor and oatmeal.
Then Alex hit gold: an aunt. Not a blood relative, but adopted. The story was straight out of a movie. Jed's grandpa had busted a trafficking ring back in the day, saving four kids. Three went home; one didn't.
Her parents died in a wreck while searching for her, leaving her alone. So Grandpa and Grandma took her in, gave her a name: Mary.
Alex pulled her file, his grin widening. Female, 31, owner of an import-export company with stakes in half a dozen others.
She was tough, ambitious, a real go-getter. But here's the kicker: her business was tangled up with the Wade family's turf.
She wanted to grow, to climb higher, but the Wades kept slamming the door in her face, boxing her in at every turn. It was personal—and it was messy.
"Jackpot," Alex whispered, leaning back with a satisfied nod. Jed might be a saint, but his aunt was a fighter with a grudge. And that was a crack Alex could work with.
Alex flipped through Mary's file, his fingers pausing on a glossy photo tucked between the pages.
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His lips curled into a sly, slow grin. In the picture, Jed's aunt stood tall and striking, her beige dress clinging to her curves like it was painted on—hugging her full hips and accentuating a chest that demanded attention.
She radiated elegance, her posture graceful yet relaxed, with a warm, dazzling smile that lit up her gentle face. At least two billion dollars backed that beauty, and Alex couldn't help but whistle under his breath.
Suddenly, a spark flared in his chest. He needed to get close to Jed, the crime-solving golden boy. After all, Jed had no uncle, and poor Mary was out there all alone—a strong woman raising her nephew like a son after his parents died in his teens.
How tragic, how noble. And Alex? Well, he just so happened to have a surplus of charm and fatherly vibes to spare.
